


The Things I Didn't Speak

by flipflop_diva



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Creepy, F/M, Mind Manipulation, Missions Gone Wrong, Mystery, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Trapped, unwanted mind reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-18 18:43:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8171978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/pseuds/flipflop_diva
Summary: It's freezing. They're trapped in a room with no way out. And to make matters worse, they seem to now be connected in a way he never thought would have been possible. (Set sometime post-Winter Soldier and inspired by Star Trek The Next Generation's "Attached".)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesertVixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertVixen/gifts).



> DesertVixen asked for a fic inspired by Star Trek The Next Generation's "Attached". I'd never seen that episode, so I googled — and promptly fell in love with the idea. This is what came out of that idea.

The room was freezing. That was the first thing Steve was aware of when he slipped back into consciousness. The second was that he seemed to be lying on a slab of steel.

He kept his eyes closed while he waited for his other senses to kick back in, a trick he had learned from other SHIELD agents back when SHIELD was still a thing. The room was definitely freezing, like someone had kept the air on way too long, but he couldn’t hear the noise of an air conditioner or anything at all. It was completely silent. No breathing, no footsteps, no nothing.

He couldn’t smell anything either. No gas, no blood, no nothing. 

He took note of his own body. He was stretched out, arms down by his sides, like he was on an examination table. His head ached, like he had been hit, and he could feel his body shivering, but nothing else seemed wrong. He moved one of his fingers, running it across against the surface below him, testing it out. It was steel. He was sure of it.

He opened his eyes. The room — or whatever it was — was encased in darkness. He blinked a few times and waited for his eyes to adjust. He still didn’t hear anything or sense anything. 

Finally, the shadows began to take shape. He was in what looked like a completely solid room. The walls glinted slightly like they too were made of metal. 

He sat up slowly, inch by inch, waiting for someone or something to pop out, waiting for a voice to yell at him, waiting for anything but nothing happened. He slowly swung his legs to the side and dropped them over the edge.

He was definitely on a table. Not an examination one like he had first thought, but more like the autopsy tables he had seen in morgues. The thought made him shiver.

Now that he was sitting up, he could assess his own body better. Nothing was broken. His head still throbbed slightly, and his muscles all ached, like he had just run a marathon. He ran his fingers over his abdomen. He still had his suit on, so that was something. His stomach was tender, like he had been hit there and hard, but he could feel the serum already doing its job.

He tried to remember what had happened. 

They had been exploring what was supposed to be an empty Hydra base, he recalled that. He had found a locked door, had kicked it in. He remembered the smell — rancid as anything. He’d turned around to call for Natasha …

_Natasha._

She had been with him. The door had been at the top of a rickety old staircase. She had followed him down the stairs. 

That was the last thing he remembered.

He leapt off the table, adrenaline suddenly pouring through his body, eyes frantically searching the room.

There.

In the farthest corner from him, against the wall, he could just make out a darker collection of shadows.

He sprinted over to the corner, his heart in his throat, dropping to his knees beside it.

It was her. She was crumpled on the ground, like she had fallen after she’d been hit and hadn’t moved since. Her hair was covering her face.

He reached out, pushed her hair away so he could see her. She was freezing, her skin like ice, clammy. Her eyes were closed, and he could just make out a trail of blood down her cheek. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing.

He forced himself to take a breath, to shove the panic down. His fingers dropped to her neck, searching desperately for a pulse.

For an eternal second, there was nothing, just her cold and unmoving below his fingers, but finally, finally, he found it, felt the very faint thud against his flesh.

He let out a wisp of air, relief — for a moment at least — flooding through him.

“Natasha,” he called. “Nat. Hey, Nat. Come on. Open your eyes for me.”

He slipped his hands further under her and tugged her upright so she was sitting against the wall. The trail of blood on her cheek was coming from a wound just above her left eyebrow, but it didn’t look deep.

He ran his fingers down her arms, her stomach, her legs. She, too, was in her suit, but he didn’t see any blood seeping through and he couldn’t feel any broken bones.

“Natasha,” he called. “Natasha!”

He slipped a hand behind her neck, cupped the back of her head. His other hand grabbed hold of hers. It was limp in his grasp.

“Natasha,” he called again, over and over. “Come on, Nat. You gotta wake up for me.”

She moaned. At first he thought he was imagining it, the sound so faint in the otherwise silent room, but after he nudged her again, called her name another time, she moaned again.

He whispered a silent thanks to whoever might be listening, continued speaking her name, almost like a chant.

Finally, her eyelids flickered, and then she was staring at him, her eyes wide, confusion and terror shining through where usually there was nothing.

“Steve?” Her voice was hoarse, like she hadn’t used it in awhile.

He didn’t let go of where he was cupping her head. He also didn’t let go of her hand. She continued to stare at him.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he answered.

“What happened?”

“What do you remember?”

She frowned. He could see her trying to fill in the pieces of her memory.

“Hydra,” she finally said. “Walking down stairs.”

“Yeah. That’s what I remember too. Nothing after that?”

She shook her head. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know. As far as I can tell, it’s a solid metal room. Haven’t had time to search out the door yet, but I have a feeling it’s not just going to open. How are you feeling?”

She frowned again, then, “C-cold.”

He realized with a start her hand in his was shaking, and he felt an instant dose of shame. He had thought it was him who was still shivering, but she was smaller than him and she didn’t have serum ...

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”

“How else are you feeling?”

She shrugged. “Like someone beat me up. Not bad, I don’t think. Nothing major. Is there a cut back here? I feel something.”

She dropped her head forward and gestured to the top of her neck, just below her hairline.

“Let me see.”

He removed his hand from where he had been cupping her, lower on her neck than she was pointing. He pushed her hair out of the way to take a closer look. He couldn’t see any blood. He pressed his fingers gently to where she was pointing, and …

“Oh.”

“Oh, what?”

He lifted her hand, directing it so she could feel, too. There was something under her skin, hard, the size of a small pebble.

“What is that?” Her eyes had grown wide again.

He shook his head, horror suddenly flooding through him. His own aching head …

He let go of her, reaching a hand back around his own neck, feeling, prodding the skin.

“I’ve got one too.”

“That can’t be good,” Natasha whispered. 

Steve shook his head in agreement. “Why don’t we see if we can get out of here? If we can get back to Tony, maybe he can get this out of us before it does whatever it’s supposed to do. Can you stand?”

He helped her to her feet. She was shaking harder now. He was afraid that if they had lights to see that he would notice her lips were blue.

“It’s not that bad,” she said, forcing a smile at him. “I’m used to cold.”

“You’re shivering.”

“It’s just cold, Steve. Let’s find a way out.”

They went opposite directions, searching the walls, the floor. When that didn’t work, he lifted her onto his shoulders so she could check the ceiling. 

Nothing.

Solid metal. Not even a crack. He wondered how they had even gotten in here. He wondered _who_ had put them in here. He wondered if they would ever get out.

They sat down in the center of the room. He gestured to her to sit in his lap. She arched a brow at him. He could almost see a smirk playing on her lips.

“Is now really the time?” she teased. 

“Do you want to freeze to death? You know I’m warmer than you.”

“I know a different way to stay warm.” She lifted a finger, pressed it against his chest, ran it tantalizing downward.

He stared at her, unaffected. “Natasha.” His voice was low.

She sighed, dramatically. “You need to loosen up, Cap.”

“You need to take things more seriously.”

She blinked. “I always take things seriously.”

She actually looked slightly hurt. He couldn’t tell if she was playing it up or if it was real. He could read her a lot better than he used to be able to, could sometimes see the tells she tried desperately hard to keep hidden, but other times, she was too good. But he instantly felt guilty anyway. 

“Just come here,” he said, and he opened his arms. She didn’t protest this time, just shifted over next to him, before lifting herself up and settling into his lap. 

It was slightly awkward at first, having her so close to him. They had worked side-by-side now for months, had been through hell together in D.C., but she normally wasn’t pressed against him. He could smell the flowery scent of her shampoo, her hair tickling the bottom of his chin as she shifted around against him, trying to find a comfortable position, and one that would help warm her.

She ended up curling up against his chest, her knees tucked up under her chin, one of her arms around her legs and the other wrapped around Steve. Her head was nestled just below his collarbone. He could feel her shaking, her shivering growing more out of control. He wrapped his arms around her, kept her pressed to his warm body.

He knew there was a way to keep her even warmer, but he wasn’t sure if he was there yet. The idea of getting naked with Natasha when they weren’t sure what was even going on yet wasn’t the most comfortable thought.

“I was kidding about the sex,” she whispered against him.

“I know.” He moved his hands up and down her back, trying to create friction, trying to keep her warm. Her shivering was getting worse, even pressed against him, or maybe he was imagining it, scared of what would happen if she did get worse.

“I’m scared,” she said.

“I know. I’m scared too.”

Natasha’s head shot up off his chest, her entire body leaning away from him at the same time. Her movement was so fast, she almost fell sideways.

She stared at him in what looked like horror. He stared back at her in concern.

“Nat?” he asked, cautiously, like he was talking to a spooked child.

“What did you just say?”

“I said I’m scared too. Why are you looking at me like-?”

“I didn’t say I was scared.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t, Steve. I _thought_ it.”

He frowned at her. “Nat, I clearly heard …”

“You didn’t,” she said. “I was biting my finger to stop my teeth from chattering. I _didn’t_ say it.”

He still didn’t understand. “That’s impossible. How else would …”

He trailed off, realization dawning. He could tell Natasha had the same thought.

“That’s impossible,” he whispered.

“What am I thinking?” 

He was looking at her face. Her lips didn’t move, but the words were as clear as anything. And then he saw something — the top of the staircase at the Hydra base. He was looking down, into the dark. He couldn’t see past the top three stairs, but he could see something — some _one_ — in front of him. 

Someone bigger than he was, someone taller, someone in a dark blue suit.

Steve closed his eyes. The image disappeared. He reopened them to see Natasha staring at him, actual terror across her face.

He had seen himself at the Hydra base. He had seen her memory, her thought. His hand reached up, touched the small pebble-like thing embedded in the back of his head, the one that matched the one Natasha had too.

It was impossible, but he knew without a doubt it was real. He could read her thoughts, and she could read his. Anything she was thinking. The secrets she kept, the memories she kept buried …

“Don’t.” Her voice was terse, sharp. “Don’t go there.”

“I’m not trying to invade your privacy, Nat,” he said quickly. 

“Stay out of my head.”

“I don’t know how.”

Her hand flew to the back of her neck. Her face scrunched up, like she was bracing herself.

“No!” He grabbed her arm before she could dig her nails in. “Natasha, don’t!”

“I want it out.” Her voice was desperate.

“We don’t know what else it does. It could kill you.”

“I’ll take that risk.”

“I won’t.”

“You don’t get to choose for me.” Her lips didn’t move. The words seemed to echo in his brain.

“Fuck.” This one she said out loud.

“We’ll figure it out. I promise,” he said.

As if on cue, a noise filled the room. A whirring sound. They both spun around, just in time to see a tiny section of the wall suddenly open up.

How was that possible?

They turned their heads, stared at each other, turned back to the open wall, waited for something to happen, for someone to run in, for an explosion or a gunshot. But there was nothing.

“We have to go for it,” Steve finally said.

She didn’t say it, but he heard it anyway: “I’m scared.”

He reached out for her hand. “Do you trust me?” he said.

He thought she wasn’t going to answer, but finally she did. Not in words, though. “You know I do.” She slid her hand into his.

“Then trust me now. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

“That’s an awful big promise.” From the corner of his eye, he saw her lips curve up into a slight smirk. That was the Natasha he recognized.

“Go big or go home,” he told her. “That’s what people say, right?”

“Okay, soldier.” She squeezed his hand. “Then let’s go home.”


End file.
